Hey brah it's me! Got an idea for you Starting out as either a nerdy gay british foreign teacher or a nerdy gay british foreign student, the mc becomes a college aged all-american hunk and football jock
Going from slim, scrawny, pale and dark haired beta boy to a muscular, handsome, hung and powerful conservative american alpha. Gay to straight [or bi!]
He's transformed by a butterfly tf [my fav!] that changed an ancestor and rewrote his genes
I love the idea of his dick changing people but if you don't like female tfs then don't include it. Either way maybe there's a scene of him slamming cheerleader pussy before cutting to him losing stress pounding twink bussy
Happy 4th July bro!
George knew it was a cliche, but as a brit, he absolutely hated the fourth of July. It wasnât the holiday itself he hated. Back when he actually lived in England he never really thought about it because, well, why would he? No one celebrates the independence day of a country that they have no connection to, even if some Americans weirdly assume all people celebrate the 4th. It was only after George moved to America for college that he began to despise the holiday. The barbecues and celebrations were fine, even if they could be a little much for Georgeâs taste, and the fireworks were actually pretty great, despite how loud they could get. What George hated about the holiday were the kind of people it seemed to draw out. From loud frat boys that were too dumb to know they shouldnât get drunk before messing around with explosives, to overly patriotic hicks who used the holiday as an excuse to scream about their politics and demonize anyone who disagrees with them, the 4th always seemed to bring out the craziest kinds of people. People who George, sadly, seemed to always run into on the 4th of July. For the three years George had been living in America the pattern was always the same, every 4th of July heâd be forced to leave his house for whatever random reason, and spend the rest of the night being harassed and humiliated. He wasnât sure why he never seemed to run into anyone nice on the 4th of July. He had met plenty of nice Americans on other days of the year, but on the 4th he only ever ran into people who hated him, people who saw him â openly gay and stereotypically English â and figured harassing him was a good way to celebrate their independence. This year however, George had had enough of it. This year, George was absolutely determined not to leave the house.
The first time George had been caught outside on the 4th of July, he had actually come willingly. He had been convinced by some of the other freshmen he had befriended to go out and celebrate with them, to see the foreign holiday with his own eyes. He had actually had fun, for the first half an hour. Then he got separated from his friends while at the fireworks, and accidentally caught the eye of one of the members of the football team. He spent an hour being mocked and bullied by the obnoxiously patriotic jocks, and left before the fireworks even started. The next year he had planned to stay inside, but had forgotten to buy some groceries, so he decided to quickly head to a store a few blocks away. On his way he walked past a local barbeque, and the grillmaster heard his British accent when he answered a spam call. George remembered an entire crowd of people throwing half empty beer cans at him as he was screamed at by the man working the grill to âgo suck a teabag.â Last year he had been determined to sleep through the entire day, only for a broken AC unit to force him out of the house, where a drunk man almost immediately threw a lit firework at him. George was able to get inside before it went off, and had to admit that that incident probably had more to do with horrible luck and a careless drunk rather than someone purposely targeting him like the other two, but it had still managed to put him off of the holiday for good. This year, George was absolutely determined not to leave his house. He had locked his doors, bought supplies, had the AC and the plumbing checked out, and planned to curl up in his room with his noise canceling headphones and some ice cream. He was certain he wouldnât have to leave his house this year. But even that wouldnât protect him.
George had just grabbed his headphones and scooped himself a bowl of ice cream when he heard a knock on the door. He groaned, and put down his chocolate ice cream with a miserable look on his face. He knew something was going to ruin this. He reluctantly walked over, too polite to just leave the door unanswered. Before he could open it though, something slid under the door. As George picked it up, he realized it was an envelope, one that was blank apart from an American Flag drawn onto it. George knew, almost instinctively, that he shouldnât open it. At best this was some sort of annoying card for a holiday heâd rather forget, and at worst this was going to be some sort of weird prank. But something in George hesitated to just throw it out. His curiosity, or perhaps some other force, got the best of him. He struggles with the envelope for a moment, before tearing it open⌠and covering the room with a spray of red, white and blue glitter.Â
George groaned as the glitter settled in all around him. Of course the stupid thing was filled with glitter. It was a strange prank, since if he had been more careful with the envelope, he wouldnât have spread the glitter all over the place, but somehow he had managed to fall for it anyway. He grabbed his icecream, which sadly was also covered in glitter, and tossed it out, before going to the sink to wash both the dish and his skin.Â
As George attempted to wash the glitter off of his hands, he noticed something strange was happening. As he rubbed his hands together, the glitter seemed to disappear, not washing away but almost seeming to dissolve. George thought it might be some sort of water soluble paper glitter⌠until he began to feel the glitter on his face sink into his skin. George tried to pull the glitter off of his arms and face in a panic, but found the glitter just wouldnât come off. As the glitter was absorbed into his skin, he felt a strange warmth come over him, as strange images flashed within his mind.
It was like his mind had been transported hundreds of years into the past. Or perhaps 250 years, to be more exact. He could see a woman, wearing a lavish blue gown, that he could somehow instinctively tell was one of his ancestors. He saw her at a party, dancing with a scrawny British officer he had no doubt was related to him too, when suddenly the scene shifted. Instead of a British officer, the redcoat had been replaced by a dashing, muscular blond gentleman that George could just tell was a part of the revolution. The past continued to shift. Instead of going back to England, the woman would stay here, with him. Instead of giving birth to a young English woman who would one day give birth to Georgeâs great-great-great-great-great grandmother, she gave birth to several strapping young lads who followed in their fathers steps, helping run the small new country he had fought to create. But it wasnât just her though. George's mind raced with hundreds of images, of women he somehow knew were his ancestors being torn away from their rightful place in history, and seduced by strong, American cock.Â
As Georgeâs mind was drowned in his new American heritage, his body began to change, rewritten just as his past was. A pale tan was replaced by a perfect golden tan, as Geroge shot up almost a foot in height and began to pack on muscles, his new american genetics having been almost handpicked to make him the perfect stud. He could feel his body morph, his pecs push out and his biceps become pythons, as he became exactly like all the other men in his new family, sexy, dominant, muscular American gods.Â
As the changes finished and the waves of new thoughts and feelings receded just enough for the man who used to George to think, he felt a warm confidence come over him. Fuck he felt so⌠good. What had he just been doing? His head felt so heavy, and he couldnât seem to remember much. He looked up as the sudden boom of distant fireworks cut through his confusion. Fuck, it was the 4th! How the fuck had he forgotten? Paul â that was his name, right? â couldnât believe he had almost forgotten the most important fucking day of the year. He had always loved the 4th of July, ever since he was a little kid and his pop took him out to see the fireworks. Every year he went wild on the forth, fireworks and family fun having evolved into drinking, hanging out with his bros, and breeding good American girls in the name of his country. He rushed out the door of his apartment, not realizing it looked nothing like it had an hour ago, and headed downstairs. Maybe he could still have some fun before the night was up. With his all american muscles and footlong cock, he should have no problem convincing some blond bitch to let him raw dog her under the glow of the fireworks.Â
Paul swaggered out of his apartment building, his american flag tanktop pulled tight over his bulging pecs. It was time for Paul to have some good, old fashioned, American fun. It was his duty after all, as a true American.
